


Wearing My Jacket, Voice Like an Angel

by bigficenergy



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, The Leather Jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 02:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20038342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigficenergy/pseuds/bigficenergy
Summary: Patrick forgets to bring a jacket on a cold evening at an event he and David are running. Conveniently, David has his leather one to lend.





	Wearing My Jacket, Voice Like an Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [call_me_tina_b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_tina_b/gifts).

> A quick little birthday gift! 🎁
> 
> I was listening to ["Farewell, December" by Matt Nathanson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZ0zqDTE8C4) the other day, which has the line "Wearing my jacket, voice like an angel..." and thought "there's something to be done there with Patrick needing to borrow David's leather jacket at some sort of event where he's singing, I'll shelve that idea for now." But then I heard it was call_me_tina_b's birthday, and her fic [The Jacket](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178406/chapters/35199839) was one of the first fics about The Jacket that I remembered reading. So I'm giving back a little more jacket.

Despite David’s doubts about hosting it in a local barn, Rose Apothecary’s first Fall Makers’ Market is shaping up to be a total hit.

“First _ annual_,” Patrick says, nudging David as they watch the shoppers from the sidelines, bustling from table to table, where some of their most beloved vendors are selling goods, handing out samples, and giving product demos.

David wraps his arms around himself, rubbing at the sleeves of his leather jacket anxiously. “You’re sure the string lights aren’t hanging too low?”

Patrick slings an arm around David’s shoulders. “We’ve talked about this. When you’re looking for little things to go wrong-”

“I know, I know, everything’s probably fine,” David huffs. He scans the barn once more, then looks over at Patrick. His eyes drift down. “I really wish you’d listened to me and brought a jacket.”

“I’m gonna be running around, hopping on and off stage all evening, I’ll be fine,” he insists, secretly hoping that David is just overreacting, because it _ is _ already getting pretty chilly in the barn. Everyone else seems to have gotten the memo and is wearing sweaters and jackets, and the shoppers who are buying knit caps and scarves are wearing them right away instead of having them bagged. Meanwhile, Patrick is wearing just a thin pullover sweater over a thinner t-shirt.

“Okay, well, you look like you could cut diamonds, so…” David says, just haughtily enough for Patrick to bristle and look down at his chest to find that David is right. He crosses his arms to cover his noticeably perky nipples.

“Oh don’t hide them on my behalf,” David says with a smirk, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m gonna go check on the food trucks.”

Patrick gives him a look as he heads outside, but figures David teasing him is better than David fretting over every little thing all night.

Fortunately, the event continues to run smoothly. There’s a steady flow of customers, plenty of whom stay for the food and live entertainment after they’ve finished shopping. They’d invited performers to sign up like they do with the store’s open mic night, and most of their regulars come through. There’s the ever-surprising duo of Ronnie and Twyla singing Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl”, Twyla going solo with a passionate rendition of “Memory” from _ Cats_, and they’d even convinced Stevie, in all her post-_Cabaret _ stardom, to sing one song after a couple of hard ciders.

Unfortunately, David was right about Patrick needing a jacket. As the evening wears on, going back and forth to introduce acts, and even accompanying Stevie on stage for her cover of Bif Naked’s “Lucky”, aren’t enough to keep the chill of the autumn evening from setting in.

It’s during Bob’s beat poetry - a set that goes on much longer than the allotted seven minutes per performer - that David finds Patrick off to the side of the stage, hands shoved in his pockets, bouncing on his feet a little to get the blood flowing.

“Now, I’m not one to say I told you so…” David starts.

Patrick glares.

“Okay, okay,” David waves his free hand and holds out the paper plate of chicken kabobs he’d gotten from his second round at the food trucks. “Hold this.”

For a second, Patrick thinks he’s having him hold the hot plate to warm his hands, but then David is stripping off his leather jacket. He hands it to Patrick and takes back his food. Patrick looks at him, waiting for him to suddenly come to his senses and snatch it back, because the idea of Patrick wearing his beloved leather jacket seems wrong. But he doesn’t, so Patrick pulls it on.

The jacket is still holding David’s body heat and feels incredible. David uses his free hand to fuss with the lapels, then steps back and looks Patrick over, his expression not quite readable.

“Incorrect?” Patrick suggests.

“Not the word I’d use, no,” David says. “Feel better?”

“Much better, thank you,” Patrick says, leaning up to give David a quick kiss. When he pulls back, David is looking down at him, at the jacket on him, and Patrick feels the heat in his gaze.

“You like it on me,” Patrick says. It’s an observation, not a question.

“It’s… not bad…” David says, doing a poor job of downplaying just how not-bad he thinks Patrick looks.

Patrick toys with one of the sleeves. They’re long on David, and even longer on him. He starts to fold one back.

“I’m gonna have to…”

David nods absently, then snaps back into focus. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, just try not to crease them too much.

Patrick cuffs the sleeves and smiles as he watches David’s mind clearly wander again.

“You gonna tell me what you’re thinking?” Patrick asks softly.

Applause breaks before David can answer, signaling the end of Bob’s poetry. David bites his lip and mouths, “Later.” Patrick shakes his head fondly, then head up to the stage.

“Let’s hear it one more time for Bob Currie!” Patrick says into the mic. He picks up the clipboard with the sign up sheet, and when the applause dies down again, he continues, “It looks like we’ve reached the end of our list. There’s still time if one or two more people want to sign up, but if not, I’ll just go ahead and play a few-”

Several people cheer at that, including David and Stevie, and Patrick laughs bashfully. He sets down the clipboard and picks up his guitar. As he pulls the strap over his head, he notices that he feels like he’s standing straighter, like he’s holding his head a little higher. He rolls his shoulder to adjust the guitar strap, feeling how the leather of the jacket moves with him. No wonder David tended to wear the jacket on potentially stressful social outings. It was an instant confidence boost.

Patrick is fairly comfortable on stage, but isn’t entirely immune to the jitters, or to the occasional pang of self-doubt that comes with playing an original song. But now, as he’s about to play one of his older originals, he feels good. So much so that as he strums and sings, he indulges himself and scans the audience to gauge the range of the jackets power. There’s definitely a group of women, regulars at the store who know he’s gay and very much with David, who are bordering on leering at him by the bar. Next he spots Ted and Alexis - fashionably late to the function - and Ted is watching him with enough interest that Alexis swats him on the arm with the back of her hand. Then his eyes land on Stevie, who shakes her head at him knowingly, but also doesn’t bother to look away as she sips on another cider.

In the end, Patrick makes sure to finish out the song with his eyes on David. 

_ “I swear to god, I’ll never tell,” _ he sings.  
_ “But you still might hear me if you listen well…   
_ _ Drowning in the sound of the ringing bells…” _

He realizes David likely watched him scan the crowd, but he doesn’t look angry or jealous. In fact, he’s holding one of the skewers from his kabob rather suggestively between his teeth.

_ “Oh goddammit, I’m goin’ to hell,” _he sings, right to David. There may as well not be anyone else in the whole damn barn.

Patrick finishes the song, then plays two more, then an encore before David comes to his rescue and commandeers the microphone so he can thank everyone for coming and ask them to wrap up their purchases so they can close down the market for the night.

With the volunteer help they’d managed to wrangle - which ends up mostly being Jocelyn and a few of the Jazzagals, plus a reluctant Stevie - they’re able to clear the space faster than Patrick had expected. By the time he and David are alone, there’s still plenty to clean up, but Patrick can’t wait any longer.

“So…” he says, going to wrap his arms around David’s waist. “First annual?”

David nods, smiling. “First annual.”

They kiss, chaste but celebratory.

“So…” Patrick says again when they part.

“What?” David asks, grinning like he already knows.

“What dirty thoughts were you having before when I put your jacket on?”

“Who says they were dirty? Maybe I was just appreciating you from a fashion standpoint.”

Patrick nods, stepping back. “Ah, I see. So let’s hear it. What were your thoughts from a fashion standpoint.”

David’s mouth hangs open as he tries to think of how to answer. He gives in very quickly.

“Fine. They were dirty thoughts.”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says, trying to keep a neutral expression. “So what were you thinking? Is it like a ‘bad boy’ thing?”

“Well, the ‘bad boy’ aesthetic is more than just a leather jacket,” David says. “Maybe if you grew your hair out a bit and we dug up the eyeliner from _ Cabaret_…”

“So this _ is _ from a fashion standpoint?”

David waves his hands and shakes his head. “No, okay, look...” he says, placing his hands on Patrick’s leather clad shoulders. “If I’ve learned anything from being with you, it’s that bad boys are _ immensely _ overrated. But… there was a time when there was something to that for me. And now you, looking hot in my jacket, knowing you could have your way with me, but that you’d never really hurt me… it’s like getting to pick just the fun, safe parts of ‘the bad boy thing’. If we must call it that.”

David kneads at Patrick’s shoulders anxiously as he talks, and Patrick listens, nodding, understanding. When David pauses for a reaction, Patrick takes his hand and guides him to a corner in the back of the barn, backing himself up against the wall and pulling David into him. Patrick kisses him once before pushing him gently away. He reaches up above them to a shelf he’d noticed when they were setting up the market earlier, pulls down a folded, fleece blanket, and drops it to the ground between them. David gives him a questioning look, which Patrick answers placing his hands on David’s shoulders and pushing him down.

He stumbles a little before landing on his knees on the blanket, gasping in surprise and bracing himself against Patrick’s thighs so he doesn’t fall over. He looks up, wide-eyed, and for a second, Patrick is worried he’d made the wrong move.

“Was that not-” Patrick starts, but then David springs into action, undoing Patrick’s belt. He gets right to it, undoing the button and zip on Patrick’s jeans, pulling out his already half-hard cock, and taking it in his mouth. Patrick tips his head back and moans as David works him.

Once he’s fully hard and slick with saliva, David lets him go.

“Don’t go easy,” he says. “I know you’ll still hold back for my sake, but maybe try to hold back less.”

Before Patrick can ask if he’s sure, David takes a breath and takes him down, all the way into his throat. Patrick gasps and his hips twitch forward. David swallows around him and he swears into the crisp air of the barn. When David pulls off to catch his breath, Patrick runs his fingers through David’s hair. Slowly, he tightens his grip and pulls, tipping David’s head back. With his eyes closed, David smiles.

If David can trust him like this, he should be able to trust David to know what he wants, Patrick thinks. So he guides David’s mouth back to his cock and thrusts in. David moans around him and grips Patrick’s thighs tight, giving a small nod. Patrick thrusts in again and again, forceful, but not so deep or hard as to gag him. Judging by the way one of David’s hands lets go of him so he can palm himself over his pants, he has no complaints.

It’s certainly one way to stay warm, Patrick thinks, as he starts to sweat beneath David’s jacket. He can see his hot breath puffing out of him into the cold air as David takes him closer and closer to the edge. David lets out a particularly long moan around him and that’s all it takes to send Patrick coming down his throat. David bobs his head and sucks him through it until Patrick taps his shoulder to ask him to ease up.

He can feel David’s head resting against his thigh as they catch their breath, but it’s not until he hears David moan brokenly that he realizes he’s gotten his pants open and his hand shoved in his underwear, jerking himself off.

With no actual intention of stopping him, Patrick pulls David’s head back by his hair again and says, “I didn’t say you could do that.”

“Couldn’t help it,” David pants. He looks up at him with pleading eyes. “I’m so close, please Patrick.”

“Alright, but next time?” Patrick says, dropping his voice low and suggestive. “You’re really gonna have to earn it.”

David’s body jolts and he cries out, coming in his hand, still halfway in his pants. Before he can collapse against Patrick, Patrick is sinking to his knees too, cradling David’s face and kissing him sweetly.

“Hang on, let me get you something,” he says, standing and going to find the paper towels he knew were behind the makeshift bar. He brings them back, helps David get cleaned up, and pulls him to his feet. David immediately wraps his arms around Patrick and kisses him.

“You’re so good,” he says, burying his face against Patrick’s neck.

“Don’t you mean _ bad_?” Patrick teases.

“Mmm, that too.”

Patrick rubs David’s back. “Well, I’m sufficiently warm now. Do you want your jacket back?”

David shakes his head and pulls back. “This sweater is wool, and I have a thermal on underneath. If anything, I could stand to lose a layer. Preferably at home. Where our bed is.”

“We can do that. But we’ll have to come back in the morning to finish cleaning the place up.”

David pulls a face, but then takes Patrick’s hand and leads him to the door.

“I suppose that’s a price I’m willing to pay,” he sighs. “But only if you’re willing to keep my jacket on for a bit longer when we get home. I have a few more dirty thoughts.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song Patrick sings is, of course, Noah Reid's ["Angels & Demons"](https://www.youtube.com/watch/?v=ZZKONsnkdPo).
> 
> Sorry for any missed typos and general vagueness. It usually takes me days to write even a one-shot, and I knocked this out in a couple of hours. 😅


End file.
